


Hearts Grow Fonder

by ThedasWitch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cure, F/M, The Calling, contacting the warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThedasWitch/pseuds/ThedasWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair’s queen has been gone for a long time. Time passing does not make missing her easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts Grow Fonder

**Alistair**

Alistair kept the letter on his person throughout the day, in the breast pocket of his shirt. Close to his heart.

He touched it sometimes, without really thinking about it, getting a bit of reassurance from knowing he had a piece of her close. It helped when the days were too long and he thought he’d go mad if he had to hear another speech. It made missing her a little bit easier.

Even after her scent faded from their bed, her words remained. Even when dust gathered on her possessions, and moths got to the clothes in her wardrobe, and he couldn’t find traces of her presence in their chambers anymore, he still had the words she left.

He’d take it out, sometimes, and hold it for a moment before re-reading it. He’d search it every time for a finger’s smudge or a lingering scent, some trace of her he’d missed before. After so long, the parchment was creased and worn, but the ink still held the bold strokes and strong curves of her handwriting.

 

_ Alistair, _

_ My love, I hate that I am writing this rather than telling you myself. But I know you would not want me to go alone--you would insist again that you accompany me, and I am not strong enough to deny you. Because you are needed here, Alistair. Despite what you may think, you are a good man, and you will be a great king. I may want you with me--and Maker, do I want you-- but Ferelden  _ _ needs _ _ you. _

_ I am going after a cure for the Calling, for this cursed taint singing in our blood. Morrigan has shown me where to start, and I pray that I will be successful. Not just for myself, but for all who survive the Joining only to find a death sentence waiting. Wardens sacrifice enough without madness and Blight claiming them. _

_ And I am doing this for you, my love. You deserve a long, healthy life. Ferelden deserves a king who will guide her for many years to come. And any children we may have deserve parents who will live to see them grow up. _

_ I leave you with Dane. He has served me well, but even the fiercest mabari grows too old for rough travel. And he has more than earned his retirement.  _

_ Besides, no Ferelden home should go without a dog.  _

_ I will not be alone, my love. I have friends who will aid me, allies to call on, contacts to seek out. And I bring a part you with me, too. The rose you once gave me is pressed within the pages of the journal I carry, and I know I shall look at it every day we are apart. _

_ Be well, my love. Be the strong, kind, amazing man I married. You have good people around you, people who care for you and for our country. Let yourself lean on them. Let yourself laugh with them. Let yourself be the king I know you are. Let yourself be the man you have always been. _

_ All my love,  _

_ Your Keira _

 

He’d practically memorized the letter by now, had lost track of how many times he’d gone over it since she left.

Alistair had been without her, three years, one hundred thirty-three days, and this morning. Another morning waking up to a cold bed and a snoring mabari, after another night where he chased her for miles and woke before they touched. 

It didn't hurt any less after so long. If anything, it got worse. Because now he was afraid that he was forgetting things. He clung to his memories of her, afraid that every day they were a little less clear, a little more faded. 

Sometimes he stared at the portrait in the great hall, the one painted right after their wedding and her coronation. And he wondered how much of the image of her in his mind was a true memory, and how much was gaps filled in by the artist’s work.

He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer.

 

* * *

 

 

**Keira**

Leaving Denerim was hard.

She hated watching the buildings recede as she rode away, thatch and slate roofs fading into vague shapes. It was strange, how much it hurt to leave. Keira hadn’t even liked the city at first, found it too crowded and dirty, but over the years she’d grown to love it. She was as much at home in its narrow alleys winding streets as much as she’d ever been in the open fields and rolling hills of Highever.

Leaving the palace was harder.

It had become her home, as dear to her heart as the castle where she’d grown up. It was where she and Alistair had finally confronted Loghain, where they’d celebrated their victory over the Archdemon. It was where she’d married the love of her life. Leaving it behind reminded her a bit too much of another leaving, years gone now. She hated the idea of losing this home too.

Leaving Alistair was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

They’d talked about the issue before, argued in circles for hours about the Taint and a possible cure. They feared what might happen to their country if the Calling claimed them young, leaving no heir. And Keira felt that they owed it to their fellow Wardens--the Wardens that, as their Commander, she felt responsible for--to discover if they could opt out of the curse in their veins.

For years, their discussions had never gone beyond talk. There was too much to do in Ferelden to think of setting out on a quest, and they had no clues to start from.

Then Morrigan was sighted, and Keira went after her. The witch left her with a parting gift, the journal of a former Warden. Former, in that he’d been cured of the Taint and left the order. It was ancient, and parts of it were written in languages Keira didn’t even recognize, but it was confirmation that a Cure  _ was _ possible. Finally, they had somewhere to start.

Discussions with her husband changed after that. The both knew that they couldn’t afford  _ not _ to pursue the lead, that there was too much at stake for the Wardens and for Ferelden, but they didn’t know where that pursuit would lead. Monarchs of a nation couldn’t abandon their thrones to hunt down ancient rumors. Alistair tried to persuade her to send someone else--Nathaniel, or Sigrun, anyone--but she always countered that the task was too important to trust to another, and too uncertain to command anyone else to pursue.

Eventually, Keira managed to get him to realize that it had to be her, and she had to be alone. But he kept finding reasons to delay the journey.  _ Stay _ , he always said,  _ for just one more week. Just until this visit. Just until this is done. _ And there was always one more week, one more visiting dignitary, one more task to perform.

She realized that if she waited until they were ready to say goodbye, she would never leave.

So Keira made preparations without telling her husband. On their last night together, she took her time memorizing every inch of him, preserving his image in her mind. She tried to make it a romantic night, tried to give him a happy memory of her, but she thought he knew something was wrong. He kisses were more desperate, and when they were done, he held her tightly against him.

She left him sleeping in their bed, pressed a last kiss to his brow, and left her letter on the pillow.

There were tear stains on the parchment.

She turned her horse at the top of a rise, looking back one last time at the city she was leaving behind. Pictured the man she was leaving behind. The man who she loved enough to make the journey for.

Then Keira Theirin, born Cousland, Queen of Ferelden and Warden Commander, spurred her mount west.


End file.
